“Possibly some of the Earl’s frigid reserve towards him was occasioned by the cordial terms of intimacy which had existed between him and the late Countess—an excellent personage, who, living in comparative retirement at Milverstoke, while her lord was immersed in political life, had consulted Mr Hylton constantly on the early education of her two children. The Earl had married late in life, being nearly twenty years older than his Countess, who had brought him one son and one daughter. The former partook largely of his father’s character, but in a somewhat mitigated form; he was quicker in taking offence than his father, but had not his implacability. If he should succeed to that father’s titles and estates, he would be the first instance of such direct succession for nine generations, the Earl himself having been the third son of a second son. The family was of high antiquity, and its noble blood had several times intermingled with that of royalty.” On one of the more advanced days of the Christmas week, we are told there took place a kind of military banquet at the Castle, in compliment to the officers of a dragoon regiment, one of whose out-quarters was at the barracks at some two miles distance. Lord Alkmond was present at this banquet. During its progress his lordship quitted the company to stroll in the woods—wherefore none knew; but during his evening walk he was barbarously murdered. Young Ayliffe, under fearfully suspicious circumstances, is arrested for the crime. He had been discovered near the body—his sleeves were covered with blood—he had been hunted and tracked to his home. The cup of misery was full. A coroner’s inquest is held—a verdict of wilful murder returned against Adam Ayliffe, who is formally committed by the magistrate. He is held in custody, and must await his trial. He is _not_ guilty. The reader feels it in spite of the damning evidence that will be brought against the accused on the day of his solemn trial: the father is aware of it, and sustains his manly soul with the consciousness, dreadful as may be the unjust and as yet unspoken sentence. Old Adam has gone to his child in prison. Behold the miserable pair! Listen to the pathetic appeal. “They were allowed to be alone for a short time, the doctor and nurse of the prison being within call, if need might be. The prisoner gently raised his father’s cold hand to his lips and kissed it, and neither spoke for a few minutes; at length—— “‘Adam! Adam!’ said the old man in a low tremulous whisper, ‘art thou innocent or guilty?’ and his anguished eyes seemed staring into the very soul of his son, who calmly replied,— “‘Father, before God Almighty, I be as innocent as thou art, nor know I who did this terrible deed.’